


Plus One?

by CGotAnAccount



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: First Date, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstanding, Prompt Fill, SHEITH - Freeform, gala - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CGotAnAccount/pseuds/CGotAnAccount
Summary: “Soooo,” Keith drawls out of nowhere, oozing all the falsely casual vibes his twenty-something years can muster, “Shiro and I are going to the gala thing together.”He says it like he's waiting for a shock, all tense shoulders and shifty eyes as he fiddles with the spanner on Matt's workbench. It's pretty damn weird to be honest.“That's cool,” Matt grunts, scooting himself with his heels to get into a better position to work on the underside of the engine he's been picking away at. He squints against the grease as it drips into his face where he lays belly-up on the dolly. “You figure out your suit yet?”Matt definitely hasn't, and his mother hasn't stopped harping on him since he admitted that he was expecting to go in his rebel uniform. If Keith still needs to find something suitable then he can probably get him to grab a cheap tux without having to go out...
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 154





	Plus One?

**Author's Note:**

> For Lil Fandom Acct :)

“Soooo,” Keith drawls out of nowhere, oozing all the falsely casual vibes his twenty-something years can muster, “Shiro and I are going to the gala thing together.”

He says it like he's waiting for a shock, all tense shoulders and shifty eyes as he fiddles with the spanner on Matt's workbench. It's pretty damn weird to be honest.

“That's cool,” Matt grunts, scooting himself with his heels to get into a better position to work on the underside of the engine he's been picking away at. He squints against the grease as it drips into his face where he lays belly-up on the dolly. “You figure out your suit yet?”

Matt definitely hasn't, and his mother hasn't stopped harping on him since he admitted that he was expecting to go in his rebel uniform. If Keith still needs to find something suitable then he can probably get him to grab a cheap tux without having to go out...

“Oh, uh...” Keith falters, mouth pulling to the side in half a pout where Matt can vaguely see his upside-down face. “I was gonna wear my blade wraps.”

“No can do, bud.” He wheels himself over another few inches with a grunt of exertion, hands slipping on the wrench. “Mom says we're dead men walking if we don't get gussied up this time.”

“Ugh.”

Matt feels that sound deeply, and he empathizes, really he does... but-

“At least you've got Shiro to go with,” he snarks idly and wipes his oily hands on the thighs of his jumpsuit. “The rest of us single folk have to find a diplomatic buddy... partner up with an alien for unity and all that.”

“...you did?” Keith blinks at him, face twisting as he hops off the stool and shuffles over to sit next to the edge of the engine. “Was that a thing we had to do?”

Truth be told, he was joking... but it sounds about right, and a Holt never misses an opportunity to sound smart.

“Don't worry,” he assures him, reaching out to leave a greasy pat on Keith's knee, “you're already the alien of your couple, it's fine.”

“... _oh._ ”

Keith sighs, looking oddly deflated for someone who just told him he has a date with the guy he's been pining after for nearly a decade, but maybe he doesn't want to go get a suit either. He hangs around for a minute or two longer, opening his mouth like he can't decide if he wants to say something or not. Matt's always been good at waiting him out – but it doesn't come this time, and the room feels oddly bereft when Keith mutters a quiet goodbye and stands to shuffle out the door.

Matt sighs and goes back to his engine. The bolt is still stuck.

Keith shows up at his door the next night with two cheap generic tuxedos in his hands. He doesn't wait to be invited in, just brushes by Matt, suit legs dragging on the floor as he goes to flop onto the bed.

“This is stupid.”

Matt blinks at him, then at the cheap suits chucked onto the bed. They're almost certainly going to wrinkle there, but if Keith doesn't care then he doesn't really either.

“Not a big dancer?” Matt shuffles over to sit next to him, cocking an eyebrow at his unusually morose friend. “I figured you'd be more enthusiastic.”

“Yeah, being the token Galra is real fun,” Keith grumbles, huffing a miserable breath as he nudges at the suit with the toe of his boot. “I'm not even purple... just the budget version.”

“In a budget suit,” Matt jokes, reaching across him to finger the plastic-y fabric. “Don't you want to look nice?”

“No point.”

Matt's brow furrows as he glances down at the cloud of miasma beside him. “I bet Shiro's going to look nicer than a fifty GAC suit.”

“Maybe he'll find someone he wants to go with then,” Keith grunts back. Matt can tell it was an attempt to be flippant, but he can see his friend's lip wobbling.

“I'm pretty sure he wants to go with you?” He feels like he's missed something important here, because as far as he was concerned this was supposed to be that 'belle of the ball' moment where a giddy Keith gets to go swirling around the dance floor with his admiral making everyone envious of both of them... not whatever this is. “Did he say something?”

“...No.” It's a grudging answer, made more obstinate by the set of Keith's jaw. “But they probably made him ask me.”

“Keith.” Matt punctuates his name with a punch to his thigh that causes Keith to jerk upright with a hiss of pain. “Who the _hell_ can tell the Admiral of the Atlas who to bring to the gala on his own ship?”

“I dunno,” Keith grumbles as he rubs the charlie-horse out with a glare, “Coalition people probably?”

“ _Keith._ ” Matt raises his fist again, a silent threat to punch the other thigh that has Keith tucking his knees to his chest with a scowl. “You're an idiot. He _is_ Coalition people... you literally just told me yesterday he asked you out!”

“Well I was probably wrong!” Keith insists, still scowling over his knees.

He looks like a angry cat.

“I hate you,” Matt sighs, dropping his hand to rub at the bridge of his nose wearily. “Now we both have to go suit shopping for real since you obviously can't be trusted.”

“They're fine,” Keith protests, nudging one with the toe of his boot again. “I got two mediums.”

Matt closes his eyes and tries not to become his mother.

The tailor's shop is nearly empty when they arrive the next morning – of both patrons and appropriate attire. Matt has to repress his sigh as the voice of Colleen Holt floats through his psyche, reminding him about early birds and worms and other terrible proverbs that he's tried to purge from his mind over the years.

“I don't know if this is going to be much better,” Keith mutters, shoulders nearly to his ears as he squints around the sparse racks. “Not much left.”

“At the very least they'll be able to fit these monstrosities a little better,” Matt sighs, hopes dwindling as he plucks at the velveteen fabric of an orange suit-

-which is promptly whisked out from his grasp as the rack moves away from him entirely, replaced with a short, furred alien who blinks up at them.

“Are you here for the gala?”

“Yes.” Matt jerks a thumb back at where Keith appears to be content to slink behind him. “This is the red paladin, he's going with the admiral and doesn't have a suit.”

The little thing sputters in horror, eyes growing to take up nearly half its face as it warbles something into the back – and suddenly the room is full of the little creatures.

“No suit!” One chirps mournfully, waving its tiny paws in the air. “No suit for the paladin!”

“I had a medium-” Keith tries, then instantly clams up at the gasp of disgust that runs through the furry sea.

“It was polyester,” Matt stage whispers to the one in front of him, clucking his tongue for emphasis, “that's why I brought him here, I heard you're the best in town.”

Really, he had heard they were the only ones still open, but judging by the stars that burst into their eyes it must be the right thing to say if he wants to have pants that fit by the evening.

Before he can protest, they're whisked away into a little back room, stripped down to their underthings and poked and prodded with sewing needles until Matt's half-certain he's going to look like he has chicken pox.

Still, he's certainly not going to complain – not when one of them has their claws that close to his inseam, calling out measurements for another that's cutting swaths of fabric on a table across the room... and even if the family jewels were secure he'd still be inclined to give them all the leeway in the world. He's never seen a suit whipped up so fast, pinned to the mannequin and stitched together by a dozen blurred paws. The tailors chitter back and forth to each other like he and Keith aren't even in the room, twisting them this way and that, adding and removing features to the suits without pausing to ask for input.

Which, frankly, is probably a blessing considering the _medium_ suits that Keith had settled for. Matt hadn't even known it was possible to have lower standards than his own, but _damn._

It can't be more than thirty minutes later that the suits are fully formed, stripped off the mannequins, and carried over by swarm of hands and hopeful eyes that implore him to tug it on – and who is he to deny them the fruits of their hard labor?

He'd say it fits like a glove, but he's never owned a pair of gloves this comfortable... and judging by the way Keith's ass pops in his new trousers he's willing to bet they look as good as they feel.

“Damn, this is fantastic.” Matt beams down at them, hefting his sack up from the floor. “How much do we owe you?”

The boss waves them off with a puff of their cheeks. “We don't take paladin money here.”

Keith looks over at him and shrugs as he slides his hands down the front of his jacket. He's obviously pleased with the results, even if he doesn't want to admit to getting his hopes up... Shiro isn't going to know what hit him.

“Well...” Matt drawls, offering his most charming smile, “I don't have a date yet, how would you like to go with me and represent all your fine work?”

The room bursts into a flurry of chittering again, and they're whisked out of the dressing room as brilliant rolls of cloth come out of a closet.

He takes that as a yes.

The gala is in full swing by the time the men of the hour arrive, and Matt has already had plenty of fun nitpicking everyone else's clothing with his surprisingly delightful date. Turns out poor taste is a universal constant.

They're in rare form judging the gaudy robes of one of the lizard people from Thrax'il when Matt catches sight of a shock of white hair above the crowd - and the coiled spring at his side looking about ready to bolt at any moment.

“Would you like to meet Shiro?” he asks his date, tipping his head over to where the couple has been waylaid by dignitaries. “I'm sure he'd love to thank you for Keith's suit.”

“The admiral!” They nod, paws fidgeting as they scurry through the crowd a step ahead of Matt, drawing up just short of Shiro's pant leg to cast a critical eye over his suit. “Sufficient.”

Keith can't hold back his snort of laughter as he stoops to hold out his hand to shake. “Nice to meet you again, thank you for the suit.”

“You make a fine mannequin,” they chirp in response, turning their eyes to Shiro, “doesn't he?”

“He's gorgeous,” Shiro agrees without hesitation, beaming down at Keith as he wraps an arm around his waist. “I don't know how you managed to get him to stay still for a fitting, but I'm forever grateful.”

The little alien's fur puffs up nearly twice the normal volume in pride, fluffy ears perking to attention. “I will make yours next time.”

“I look forward to it.” Shiro leans way down to shake their paw. “I'd love to have you on as our official tailor, if you'd have us.”

“That will work.” They nod, pumping his hand once before turning to Matt. “I have seen enough here, I must prepare... much work to do...”

And then they're patting him on the hand and taking their leave... which leaves Matt third-wheeling yet again.

“Soooo...” He stuffs his hands in his pockets with an eyebrow wiggle. “Is this your first official date then?”

Shiro nods with an enthusiastic, “Yes!”

Right as Keith shakes his head.

“Oh, are we counting yesterday's lunch?” Shiro asks as he turns to smile down at Keith, fingers flexing into the dip of his waist. “I guess it could be, since I had already asked you out.”

“Since you... since-” Keith sputters, cheeks flaring to match his cravat.

“I know, it's so new, I'm still giddy too!” Shiro is all bubbles and sunshine as he holds Keith even tighter, like he's never going to let him go again. “I can't believe he even said yes, Matt... I know you've been saying it for ages but... wow!”

“Wow,” Keith whispers beside him, looking up from his shoes with stars in his eyes. “Shiro... I love you.”

Then it's Shiro's turn to sputter, ears shining like beacons as he turns, dumbstruck, to crush Keith to his chest. “Baby! I love you too-”

Matt tucks his smile into his glove and steps away, shooing a flock of ambassadors with him to give the happy couple a little privacy.

With any luck he can get Pidge to help him flip over a dessert table and give them the distraction they need to slip out and celebrate officially... he's sure his mother will approve.


End file.
